Working Out the Kinks (Chain) (12 page)

That strange shudder I felt earlier came back. I took a seat on the couch and tried not to grow concerned.

“What are the rumors, Whitney?”

“I heard he doesn’t keep subs long, because none of them can handle what he practices. You know those scars on Master Eric’s back?”

A knot had formed in my throat as I spoke. “Yeah?”

“Those are from him. His expertise is scarification, and he doesn’t do it lightly.”

I tried to ignore the idea of this man drawing blood. Just the thought of it made me sick. “How could Eric get involved with someone like that?”

“I don’t know. He never talks about his past. All I know is this guy is trouble, and I’m worried.”

The idea of me being held down as a man towered over me, holding a knife, suddenly came to mind. Eric wouldn’t let that happen, and I’d never submit to that type of bondage. But still, the image was there. I set my cleaning rag down on the coffee table and kicked my feet up on the couch. There was no way I could finish my chores now, with my impending doom awaiting me Monday evening.

“What do you think he’ll expect me to do?” I asked Whitney.

“I don’t know. You haven’t even started training yet.”

“He mentioned that tomorrow night he’ll do a quick session to try and teach me a few basics that this guy will expect to see.”

Whitney sighed on the other line. “I don’t like knowing you’ll have to be the one to do this. Why didn’t Master Eric ask me?”

I didn’t want to give her an answer, and luckily she wasn’t able to see me literally biting my tongue.

“Any pointers you can offer me before I get thrown into the lion’s den?” I tried to joke.

“Try to think of yourself as a part of Master Eric. You are his design, and you want him to think so as well. I always try and pick up what type of mood he is in when I first arrive, so be aware of that. Learn straight posture and how to keep your voice strong. Doms can pick up pretty easily on your faults, if you’re not careful. Master Eric would never manipulate you like that, but I’m worried that someone like Master Wesley would try and exploit you.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

Whitney groaned. “I hate to do this but I’ve got to get going. I have someone coming over soon. Call me if you have any questions after tomorrow night’s training.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” I said and we hung up.

I set the phone on my stomach and tucked my hands underneath my head. Eric would protect me. He wouldn’t let something get out of hand.

Would he?

When the sun set that evening I was sitting at my dinner table with my math books. It started to become clear I wasn’t going to be able to get much done after I caught myself staring at the same equation for twenty minutes straight. I slammed the book shut and groaned.

When I showered, Eric was with me in my thoughts. It helped, if just for a brief moment. Because when I started to think of him, all I could see after that was a shadow of a man standing behind him. There was always a knife in the man’s hand, and a lot of blood. I barely slept that evening, tossing and turning and twisting the bed sheets between my legs. When I finally awoke the next morning, I was grateful I still had another day in front of me before meeting Wesley. I briefly noticed the day passing, and before I knew it, I was due for a session with Master Eric. My car seemed to know I was nervous. The engine took three tries to turn over.

I arrived in the Marina with five minutes to spare, thanks to a traffic collision. Parking was a hassle and I had to find a spot three blocks down, bringing my total time to get to Eric’s at three minutes. As I rushed, a sleek and beautiful black Aston Martin caught my eye, parked in my usual spot. Its windows were tinted too dark for me to see inside and admire the craftsmanship. I picked up my pace when I came to Eric’s gate, noticing the sounds of a soft piano melody coming from somewhere close. The music became louder when I walked up to the front door. At first, I assumed it was Eric playing that beautiful baby grand piano in the corner of his living room. But then I remembered his comment about him not being able to play, and that it was someone else who liked to use it when he came over.

Master Wesley
.

My stomach sank and my heart skipped. With shaking fingers, I reached and turned the knob.

The music filled my ears when I opened the door, blocking out all my other senses. There was nothing I could do now, because when I stepped inside, the music had already taken me over.

I tried to close the door as quietly as I could, for fear the music would stop playing, and I would be discovered. It never missed a beat. The song picked up speed and danced through my ears. The first thing I remembered from my short time with Eric, was that his submissives wouldn’t wear clothes, so I began to undress. Wanting to make a good impression, I unbuttoned the fly of my shorts and kicked out of them. I tossed my shirt over my head and then folded each article of clothing into a neat pile on the ground next to my purse. Again I had chosen not to wear a bra, thinking it would just be another thing in the way of my submission. I was nervous beyond comprehension as I peeled away my underwear, but it wouldn’t be an option for me to keep on.

The music never stopped, even as I walked into the living room and kneeled in front of the empty chair where Eric would sit. As before, I laced my hands behind my head and waited.

When I stole a glance toward the piano, all I could see was the man’s backside as he sat there playing his song. His fingers danced up the keys and then fell back down slow. I could tell he was young; his body was slim and well cut. His hair, a russet color, was styled, yet sloppy, as if he had just come from a long day at work. The hunter green shirt he wore was rolled up at the sleeves to the elbows, revealing slender, sculpted arms. One foot was slowly pressing down on the pedal below. The other curled on its side in a relaxed position. He was fully engulfed in what he played and his body gently rocking back and forth.

As I stared, Eric stalked into the room, his footsteps reverberating against the wooden floorboards. He wore a similar style of clothes to the man playing the piano, except his green shirt was lighter to bring out the flaxen color of his hair. He didn’t look happy as he scowled at his other company and then at me. I kept my stance, my gaze following him as he walked toward me and took his seat in the chair. His used his hand to sweep the back of my neck and then his lips brushed against my skin just below my ear.

“I’m sorry for this, Alexandra. Master Wesley decided to make his visit tonight instead,” he explained hiding his voice just below the sounds of the piano keys playing.

I nodded my head in compliance, afraid to speak for fear Wesley would stop and turn around to pay attention to us. We sat there for a few minutes more while he played the song into a slow fade, his fingers pressing at the keys softly until the music vanished from the room.

Eric cleared his throat. “That was very beautiful. Thank you.”

Wesley turned to look over his shoulder, and my heart was stuck in my throat. His nose curved and dipped, shaping a silhouette I knew would cause him attention when he went out. I saw his jaw tick, shaping his face into something much darker.

“It’s not tuned properly for an E-flat key. I thought I told you to call last week and get that fixed?” he demanded harshly. I flinched at his words, even though they weren’t directed at me.

“It’s your fault for not playing the damn thing enough here,” Eric replied and I was proud to hear him stand up for himself.

Wesley spun around on the piano seat and crossed his legs over one another and then his arms over his chest, smirking as he finally faced Eric and me.

“Touché,” he muttered, not proud. His gaze dropped down and I was now the focus of his attention.

“Well, well,” he chimed, his green eyes practically glowing with excitement. “What have we here?”

“You know perfectly well who she is,” Eric replied and I detected a note of warning.

The side of Wesley’s mouth curled up even higher. “She looks very nice, Eric. I’m proud of you for having such good taste.”

“She’s the one with good taste,” Eric explained. “Alexandra came to me, wanting training.”

Wesley raised one brow in question and then turned his eyes back toward me. “Really? And how did you find out about Master Eric, Alexandra?”

I couldn’t speak, and I didn’t know why. All I could do was part my lips as all breath escaped me.

“Answer me,” he demanded, his smile fading quickly to my alarm.

“From Whitney,” I stuttered on her name. “Master.”

Wesley snorted. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing that man a favor, by the way.”

He was obviously referring to Whitney’s Master, the one that wasn’t sitting behind me with his reassuring hand against the back of my neck.

“He’s very professional. There’s nothing wrong with his methods,” Eric explained.

Wesley stood up and stuffed his hands into his pant pockets. He was tall, even more so than I had expected when he had been sitting down. He walked around the piano’s lid and ran a finger across the glossy paint, picking it up to inspect for any dust.

“How’s your little one’s training been going so far?” he asked and flashed me a look.

“She was supposed to train tonight, but then you decided to pay me a visit.”

Wesley’s smile returned as he leaned an elbow on the edge of the piano to rest. “I’d be honored with a show. What were you planning on doing with her?”

“Perhaps I’ll begin with floggers?”

Wesley wrinkled his nose at the notion. “No, too boring. I want to see her turn red, then purple.”

I stiffened but tried to keep my calm, focusing more on Eric’s warm hand touching me.

“We’ll have to keep strict rules for something like that. I haven’t had much time to teach her the last few days, and I don’t want to ruin her first experiences with pain.”

“If you’d stop fucking them so much, then maybe they’d learn something, Eric,” Wesley snarled.

“My teaching methods come…with time,” Eric replied and then both men laughed at the joke.

“Well, get her chained up and let’s start,” Wesley said happily. Eric’s hand slipped away and I heard him stand.

“Crawl to the playroom,” he ordered.

I dropped to my hands. “Yes, Master.”

The walk down the hall was excruciating. I felt two gazes on me the entire time I crawled, though both of them carried on a conversation about work as if nothing was happening. Wesley was a gynecologist, the same as Eric, except his expertise was in the delivery room, surprisingly enough. I would have never pegged him for an obstetrician. Seeing what I had of him so far made me wonder what he was like with a doctor’s coat on. They followed me while I led us into the dark room on the right. While the lights clicked on and then dimmed low, I crawled to the center and placed my shaking hands behind my head to wait. Eric walked in first, followed casually by Wesley, who was still talking about his Aston Martin.

“Of course,” he added and leaned his side against the frame of the door, “it’s no McLaren.”

Eric gave a nod to show him he was listening, but didn’t take the bait in a rebuttal. He walked to the cabinet filled with his supplies and opened the two doors. Inside were paddles, whips, floggers, and three canes lining the walls of the dresser. Each cane was thicker than the other, and all of them horrified me. I had seen paddles used before, and I had even seen whips and floggers in the videos I had watched, but it was the canes that got to me. Luckily Eric picked up a flogger first, much to Wesley’s dismay.